Don't Bite the Messenger
by seghen
Summary: Sent off to an unexpectedly harrowing mission in Romania after a difficult breakup, Hermione finds herself faced with love, adventure, vampires and diplomacy. PostWar, Hr/DM.
1. Chapter One

**My first new story in a really long time so please be kind! It might be start a bit slow in the beginning, but it'll definitely pick up. (5/1/08-Just edited a bit, thanks to BatmansBabe, I really appreciate the assistance!)**

Hermione Granger was going to die. She had faced Death Eaters, perplexing hexes, vampires, dark lords and years countless years of embarrassingly hideous hair dauntlessly, but this was an entirely separate matter. Those had been mere trifles, mere trials for her inevitable demise.

She raised her hand toward the door frame, hesitating before decidedly resting the palm of her hand on the oak soundlessly.

When it became clear that she was too much of a coward to knock, her counterpart did so for her, sparing her an exaggerated eye roll in the interest of silent expression. A tight-lipped smile was all that she could muster at the moment while her blood ran hot and her skin was glistening with a light sheen of sweat.

In desperation she clasped to thfe hand of the man she loved, staring straight forward as he offered a reciprocating squeeze. "You look like you're about to have a conniption," he laughed, amused. Hermione, however, could not find anything mildly humorous in the situation.

"Remember what I told you..." he nodded, cutting her off with a knowing look.

"I know, I know. No back-talk, no quippy remarks or clever anecdotes, no touching any part of your body that doesn't have fingers..." He stated with embellished exasperation.

She raised her free hand outward, pointing accusingly with her index finger. "And _no _provocation or retaliation. I don't care who starts it, who deserves it, who's begging for a blazing row. You're just going to have to take it like a man, even when and if they turn on me. No machismo defenses, that'll just alienate the lot further! Do you think they hear us at the door?" She exclaimed breathlessly, pounding energetically for good measure.

"I'm pretty sure they heard that in Ireland, love." It was still strange, the 'love' part, but she was getting used to it.

She went on, knowing she was being dramatic but incapable of stopping, "try to avoid eye contact, not because of fear but in the interest of survival. We're walking into the lion's den, here. They will eat us alive without any--" And with that, the door swung open and Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy found themselves looking death in the eye.

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**THREE MONTHS BEFOREHAND**

Four hours and twenty-six minutes in Hermione was cursing anything and everything in sight. Stupid bus, stupid bus driver, stupid unpaved roads, horrifically obnoxious squawking chickens and children! She gingerly rubbed her temples, hoping that it would all come to an end soon.

She felt herself turn green as the bus tipped precariously around a sharp corner. _I will not throw up. I refuse to throw up,_ she chanted to herself, wincing as the three baby orchestra of screams came back from their intermission full throttle, and Hermione wondered exactly how much trouble she would get in for hexing innocent Muggle babies in a crowded area in an obscure section of Romania.

Her wand was stashed safely in her leather patent bag, and the rules were clear: she was not to do magic without provocation, and she highly doubted loud, shrieking children annoying her was reason enough to break the rules.

When the ancient bus finally lurched to a stop Hermione was so eager to escape that she missed the first step and stumbled, bags and all, onto the rocky terrain. "Bullocks," she muttered, brushing debris from her sweat-drenched T-shirt and clambering to her feet, knees unstable from hours of inactivity. A man caught her elbow, helping to steady her with boundless eagerness.

"Mrs. Granger?" He enthused, moving from elbow to hand in order to pump her arm in greeting. "So good to finally meet you." His words were heavily accented, but years in foreign relations had numbed Hermione to linguistic dissimilarities.

She smiled halfheartedly, not bothering to correct his error in her name. "You must be Mr. Heliade, it's a pleasure." He finally released her hand only to clamp his fingers on her shoulder, guiding her unnecessarily forward.

"It's Mihail, please. No formalities! I just got off the phone with your Minister, and he was most flattering of you. Here, Ion, luggage!" He shouted, and a young boy materialized alongside him, quick to bow and snatch the bags and even quicker to sprint away. "I look forward to working with you, I've heard the stories. You're Potter's woman, no?"

She smiled at the mistake, but nodded nonetheless, "something like that. When can we meet with your Board of Muggle Relations?" Minister of Magic Shacklebolft found it fit for her to travel the Muggle way throughout the country in order to make a good impression. At the time she had wholeheartedly agreed, but it had only taken her a few hours of rocky transport to change her mind.

Mihail frowned at the question and she was on the verge of rephrasing when he replied, "another day or so. Maybe more, not less. They recommended another professional to discuss with, and it may take time for the Ministry to provide transport. I'm sorry," he said, seeing the ill concealed dejection quickly spill across her face.

"Oh, well, s'alright, I suppose. Could you direct me to my lodgings, I'm a bit worn-out." She said, quick to hide her disappointment. She supposed that she was being unrealistic, hoping to be in and out of here within a day. Shacklebolt had known her well enough to refrain from expressing doubts when she had informed him of her expectations.

Mihail nodded quickly and began to jog through the center of town, ignoring exasperated passersby. "I hope you'll like it here, the inn is nice. Not much English to be spoken, however. And no magic around here, either, it's a 'Muggle,' as you call it, town through and through."

"That's charming," she lied, unable to face the reality that after fifteen plus years of being in the wizarding world, living outside of it was a daunting task. She presumed that, along with her own personal issues, Shacklebolt had assigned her this under the pretense that she would be more comfortable in a mostly-Muggle surrounding than any of the others. Now that she was here, friendless, with only a basic knowledge of the language and the terrain, she felt more alone and isolated than ever.

"Here you are, Mrs. Granger!" Mihail said proudly, waving her toward a quaint building with a wide smile across his face. Hermione was startled and hadn't even realized their progress, but was quick to catch on with congratulations on the charm of the building and the friendliness of the townsfolk.

He seemed satisfied and left her to herself, bags already propped against a wide bed, toiletries on top of the dresser. She had managed to neatly tuck her socks away into the topmost drawer before she broke out in tears, left in solitude to pity her self, her situation, and her choices.

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She and Harry Potter had been 'together' for upwards of eight years; only three months a week and four days shy of their ninth anniversary. For five of those nearly nine years she had worn his ring, as a promise to marry him. Then, one day, she did what she was renowned for doing; over thought things. There was no catastrophic fight, other man or woman. He wanted to marry her, and for the first time in a long time she didn't know what she wanted.f

And that was it. The next morning she flooed to Ginny's, where she stayed until Kingsley Shacklebolt conveniently decided to send her on her first solo mission, to discuss the growing vampire problem that the ministry suspected the Romanian Ministry of Magic was not only aware of, but was encouraging.

He had given her two days notice, which was barely enough time to pack and practice living magic without magical assist, let alone get the gist of the native language.

Besides clothes and necessities, all she could afford to carry with her was a pocket sized tourist dictionary with helpful phrases like 'I don't speak Romanianian' and 'where's the market?' Kingsley insisted that is would make a poor impression to bring an infinitely more helpful magic book, making and overly excited English-Romanianian translator necessary for any and all negotiation that would transpire.

She had an illogical eagerness to get back home, get out of this strange place and go back to her friends...or what she had left of them. The bossy and decisive eleven-year-old inside of her knew that she had made the right choice and was applauding her. The adult and currently crying Hermione, however, did not share in this certainty.

Had Hermione Granger been able to grasp the gravity of the situation she was in, it was very unlikely that she would waste time and tears on times past.

**Please review, I just would like some feedback.**


	2. Chapter Two

**Hope you like!**

She didn't think that she could fall asleep but before she knew it, the sun was pouring in her window like fresh lemonade and she was groggy. Wiping her eyes, she gazed out of the casement, perplexed by the beautiful simplicity that thrived in the bustling little town.

Hermione could see why so many vampire tales took place in Romania; it was the perfect location. There was a gothic air that hadn't quite struck her while she was overrun with anxiety and carsickness, but in the light of day it was quite easy to see why Bram Stoker had chosen this country as Dracula's home.

From her limited research, Hermione had discovered that Romania was the fourth fasted growing country in terms of tourism, but she doubted that the quaint village she was much of an attraction to those seeking what they considered the 'true' Romanian experience.

It took painfully long to get presentable the Muggle way, and years of robes made jeans and a pullover quite awkward-feeling and binding. She wasn't surprised to find Mihail pacing outside her door earnestly; it appeared that his enthusiasm had increased overnight.

"Ah, you're awake! Very good, very good." He seized her by the wrist and toted her down the winding hallway, too keen to notice that he was bouncing her off the walls. Years ago Hermione would have found his exuberance trying, but a career in public relations helped her develop amusement in discovering the quirks of others.

"Where are we going?" She asked, dodging a dangerously low-hanging painting.

"The representative is here, thankfully, and a meeting is set!" He could barely contain his bubbling impatience, bouncing on the heels of his feet as though he was dancing. "No time to waste, Mrs. Granger!"

She sighed; knowing that if they were to continue to meet and communicate it would be most vexing for her to address her improperly. "It's Ms. Granger, Mihail. But feel free to call me Hermione."

His face twisted in confusion at her offer, lips contorting crudely in an attempt to pronounce such an unusual name. "Air-Mine-Eye?"

She smiled and shook her head infinitesimally, "Ms. Granger's fine."

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Breakfast, it appeared, was what all the hubbub was concerning. Mihail plied her with sausages; assorted meats that she did not wish to know the name of, and an abundance of wine. "Isn't it a bit early to be tippling?" She asked, more to herself than to her translator.

"It's never too early, you've got to wash the throat before next course." She assumed he meant palate but found his description far more amusing than her own. Hermione took a sip to be polite, but couldn't bring herself to get smashed at nine-thirty in the morning.

"When are we to meet this Board's favorite representative?" She asked, only mildly interested. She supposed she should feel insulted that the Muggle Board of Relations did not wish to deal directly with her, but she was sensible enough to realize the appeal of having a Ministry member on your side.

Mihail spat out his eggs in order to reply in haste, "At twelve-noon, he traveled the night to expedite the process. There's a meeting room where I've set up a ron-dee-voos." He explained, pleased with his word choice.

"What branch does he work at? Would I know him?" She asked, discretely regurgitating her almost solid orange juice back into her opaque glass.

"I'm not sure, it all happened so quickly. The Board didn't see it necessary to inform me," he frowned, disappointed by the slight. Hermione was quick to change the topic, taking his lead and babbling on about nothing, leaving her picked over plate behind as she clambered to her feet in an effort to explore.

"How long has this inn been here? It seems so…colonial." She asked, glad to see him perk up.

"Oh, it's been two and half century, it's got a fascinating history…" He began, pointing out ancient draperies with gusto, whispering the alleged price of the antique carpeting and rattling off the dates of the renovations. "Of course, all of this would be a bit less…consumption of the time, no, if it were done with magic." He hissed the last word dramatically, as though he were breaking the rules by saying so.

He chattered all the way back to her room, letting her get a word in edgewise in order to inquire after how one is to dial out from the telephones.

"Which room are we meeting at?" She asked, checking her watch quickly to find that it was a bit after ten. He wrote down the room number on a napkin and left her to her own devices.

It took three tries for her to finally grasp an outgoing line, and two more attempts to dial the phone number Ginny had scribbled for her. After half a ring, Hermione heard the line click and she braced herself for the pain. "HELLO? HERMIONE, ARE YOU THERE? AM I SPEAKING INTO THE RIGHT PART OF THIS BLASTED CONTRAPTION…?" Ginny shouted, and it pained Hermione to realize that she was screaming into the earpiece.

"Flip it, Gin, and I can hear you when you speak normally. Didn't we practice this?" She asked with more patience than she felt. Hermione heard her friend scramble to fix her position and hoped to Merlin that Ginny would find fit to speak with an inside voice.

"H'llo? You there, am I speaking alright?"

Hermione smiled in spite of herself and assured Ginny with the utmost confidence that she was, in fact, quite hearable. "How's it going, Gin?" She inquired out of more interest than mere pleasantry. She was missing England, and her friends, horribly. She had always thought that she was a well-adjusted person capable of adapting to most circumstances, but she was surprised to find herself growing more homesick by the hour. She had been out of the country several times before, but in spite of what Kingsley thought to be true, the timing could not have been worse.

"It's all going well," She responded vaguely, more keen to hear about Hermione's adventures than to rehash the mundane circumstances she was trapped in. "You're so lucky, to be out and about having an adventure abroad. I'm really quite jealous, wish I could be fighting vampires and rescuing villagers." Ginny said longingly, and Hermione could practically hear her salivate.

"Hate to disappoint, but it's none too exciting. Can't even use my wand, we want to make a good impression on the Muggle Board of Relations, so I'm stuck living like a Muggle." She could barely process her own prejudice, she had lived like this for more than a decade without complaint, but Ginny seemed to sympathize.

"Oh, that's awful. Maybe you'll run into Dracula, that'd certainly spice things up." She teased, and Hermione was struck with an overpowering longing to see her friend's face, witness her expressions and decipher exactly what it was that was running through her little red head.

"How's…everybody?" Even on Ginny's worst day that wouldn't have slipped by her. She knew it was only a matter of time before the conversation turned to him.

"They are all very well, though some of them are still moping about and waiting for you to come home with bated breath." She didn't bother to sensor her thoughts, and while it was a refreshing quality that Hermione normally enjoyed, today she found it quite draining.

"Ah, well, tell everyone I say hello." She said, not feeling equal enough to play along.

She should have known that Ginny would not drop the topic so quickly. "It's been quite dull at the dinner parties without you around. The awkward silences are at an all time low and we are coming dangerously close to acting a normal manner. I don't like it one bit." She stated decidedly, finally mastering her indoor voice.

"I don't know what to do, what to say, or how to act anymore, Gin." She said tiredly, feeling the distance in their conversation. "I don't even know what I want, it's just all so...confusing."

She heard Ginny sigh and, for the first time, wondered how she really felt about this whole mess, and how much she censored her thoughts from Hermione. "I can't tell you what to do, though if I did I'm rather certain you wouldn't listen anyway."

**Please review, I appreciate any and all feedback**


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